[Dreams of the Waking Man: End of Dreaming V] (Stand up and) Face the Enemy
okay, it's time to take my hands off this thing and stop fidgeting with it. i've seriously been prodding it off and on for more than three weeks now. IT'S DONE, LEX--WALK AWAY, MAN.
warnings: some Dark Avengers. Earth-339. sci-fi. post-apocalyptic (not to be confused with post-Apocalypse, because he doesn't show up for another few hundred years). OCs: Juliet is Laura's daughter, Mike Richards (Juliet's husband) is Frank's son, Gabe Frost is Scott & Emma's son, Katie Ashton is the girl Tommy saved back in Hero. mild gore & violence. multiple and future character deaths. language: pg-13 (primetime tv plus f***, s***, and g**damn).
pairing: Daken/Lester (with background Juliet/Mike).
timeline: 2065, shortly after This Sudden Darkness.
disclaimer: i doesn't owns the movies, comics, or characters. or the assorted objects of pop culture reference.
notes: 1) the title is a reference to the Pat Benatar song "Invincible." all the titles from the End of Dreaming sequence will be. 2) if it's not clear, "Summers" is Rachel, "Richards" is Michael (Frank's son), "Ashton" is Katie, and "Frost" is Gabriel (son of Scott & Emma). 3) "tac" in military terms is short for "tactical." 4) "Dani" is Danielle Cage, Commander of the Steve Rogers. 5) "suicide like Dayspring" is a reference to (Holding on to) What I Haven't Got. 6) remember those little mini shaped-charges from Further Adventures in Kidnapping? yeah, Wade loves those things. 7) VF = Valse Faction, the bad guys. 8) Tasky had stolen a copy of the schematics for the Excalibur when he needed Julian and Juliet to cover his escape in This Shattered Dream. 9) flak is antiaircraft fire (and the associated guns). flak weaponry is generally heavy-duty and high-angle. 10) in military orientation, "two o'clock" is ahead and to the right. 11) the brig is the detention area of a ship, where they lock up stowaways, troublemakers, prisoners, etc. 12) "dreadnought" is a generalized term for a large ship that is basically all guns. 13) Stark, if you'll recall, has been abducted by Stryfe and taken into the future to be turned into the computer program that will build Eight-ball (see Quartermaster).
(Stand up and) Face the Enemy
Daken doesn’t like the tactical information he’s been hearing. He also doesn’t like the fact that Providence has clearly had her civilian complement evacuated without anyone telling him.
Because of this, he’s in a very sour mood indeed when he walks into the emergency meeting of the Fleet Defense Force.
Wilson looks grim; that usually means he’s been talking to it.
Daken pans his gaze around the room. There’s seven of them now. Himself and Lester, Laura, Summers, Richards, Ashton, Frost. There used to be thirty. There used to be Johnny, and Karla, and Mac when he recovered. There used to be his stupid heroic father.
“We,” Wilson says slowly and gravely, “are well and truly fucked.”
“You say it like it’s news,” snorts Lester. “So you’ve moved all the civilians. You were planning on telling us at some point?”
“Right about now,” Wilson replies. “Hi, guys. I moved the civilians you’re supposed to be protecting. They’re all on the Dayspring, which is going to run like hell.”
“And if none of us are on it, who’s going to be protecting them?” Richards asks.
“Excellent question, Mike. Your wife. And what’s left of her crew. And most of my crew.”
“Wade,” sighs Summers, rubbing her brow. “Even if we can stall the Madeen and they make it to the landing point, there’s still the Excalibur. And she’s gonna blow all three carriers out of the sky-or ground, as the case may be.”
Laura shakes her head. “The Dayspring is the only one with all her engines at full strength, the Steve Rogers is the only one with all her guns, we’re all working on half staff, none of us have more than two matter synths to go around…”
“Giving up so soon?” snorts Frost.
“Shut your mouth, Gabe,” says Wilson, over the sound of Laura’s growl. “She’s just stating the facts.”
“We don’t give up, Frost,” Daken says flatly. “It’s in our blood. We fight until we win or there’s nothing left. If we have to, we run for a while and come back.”
Wilson taps the tac map projected on the surface of the table. “And I’ve got a way for us to win.”
“I thought you said we were fucked,” Ashton argues.
“Oh, we are. One way or another, this is the end of the Sovereign Nation of Providence.”
“Fuck that,” drawls Lester. “Don’t gimme that bullshit, Wilson, we’re both too old for it. Get to the part where we fuck up Renquist and Lindon, because I am tired as fuck of those two bitches.”
Wilson shrugs. “Good. I need a small team to go with me to fuck Lindon up in person, and I was hoping for you and the fairy princess.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”
Daken gives a theatrical sigh. “Oh, all right. Since darling Lester seems so interested, I’m game. How are we to accomplish this ‘fucking up’?”
“We’re gonna hop on board the Excalibur and blow her to kingdom come. Meanwhile, everybody else will be split between Providence and the Steve to coordinate fire-I need you guys to buy Juliet enough time to get away. She can’t outrun the Madeen and she can’t stand up to the Excalibur in a fight.”
Laura nods. “So we hold the attention of both ships until she’s got a lead on the Madeen, you take out the big guns. It could work.”
“Wouldn’t Rachel be better for a boarding party?” Frost asks. “I mean, she could cheat and do the Phoenix thing.”
Daken can smell the sadness and regret from Wilson, but waits to hear what the man will say.
There’s a pause, and then Wilson shakes his head. “Dani’s gonna need her to ‘cheat’ so they have something resembling evasive capability. Greenie, you get my boat. Katie-pie, you’re the best shot after Dani, so I want you on Laura’s guns.”
Ashton nods. “Got it.”
“Gabe, Mike, pick a boat.” Wilson puts a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “You do whatever it takes.”
She clasps his shoulder in return. “They got one of my babies. They’re not getting the other one. You just do your thing, old man.”
“So,” says Richards. “Suicide mission. That’s great. That’s all that was missing from my day.”
“Chickening out, hm?” Daken teases.
“Oh, hell no,” laughs Richards. “You kidding? Julie’d never let me hear the end of it. You three old-timers just make sure you don’t fall and break a hip trying to sink Lindon.”
“Old-timers!” Lester protests. “I ain’t even a hundred yet, kid, those two are the old-timers.”
“Ah, but I get better with age, my dear,” Daken says with a leer.
“You make me look like a cradle-robbing old perv, is what you do. Let’s hit the armory.”
Wilson leads the way.
“What are our odds?” asks Daken.
“Yours ‘n mine? Ninety-eight.”
Daken doesn’t like or trust that wording. “I meant of this stalling plot of yours succeeding.”
“Odds of taking down the Excalibur, ninety-nine with my plan. Odds of taking down the Excalibur without losing any of our carriers, eight. Odds of taking down the Excalibur with one loss, twenty-two. Odds of taking down the Excalibur but losing two carriers, fifty-five.”
“What are the odds of the Dayspring making it unscathed to the landing point to set up for Year Zero?”
Wilson glances back over his shoulder. “Unscathed? Seventy-one. Point two. With a catch. But I like my plan better, and if Dani’s right, that catch won’t be an issue, so it’s closer to sixty.”
“Two outta three ain’t bad,” Lester notes.
Daken goes over Wilson’s speech and reactions during the brief meeting. “Summers is going to die. Cage’s ship is going down?”
“A hundred minus eight is ninety-two. I know you know math, Junior.”
“Fuck you and your evasive wording,” snaps Daken. “I fight to win, and you said you have a way. I hope your plan is more thought-out than ‘get aboard with explosives and suicide like Dayspring.’”
He expects the gun in his face, has never thought much of the efficacy of guns anyway. He doesn’t flinch.
There’s something oddly majestic about the fury in Wilson’s hideous face. “I don’t have time for your bullshit whining. We haven’t got enough of anything to go around, so none of us can afford to be selfish.”
“It’s served me pretty well for the last hundred years of my life.”
“Comes a time when you win more by being selfless.”
“Yes, just look what that got my father,” Daken retorts.
“Yeah, it got your life, and Laura’s life, and Juliet’s life,” Wilson snarls. “And if I’d been selfish, you would’ve been a pretty pile of glittery ash forty-five years ago. Now, you can fucking stay here to die like a little chicken-shit, or you can regrow your balls and come with me to fuck up Lindon’s happy goddamn day. It really doesn’t matter to me, because the chances of success only fall by eleven percent.” And he stalks off down the corridor.
When Lester starts to follow, Daken grabs his wrist.
“I wanna go,” Lester says. “Lindon killed Karla and Mac and Frank, and then he went ‘n got a fuckin’ medal pinned on his chest. I know you don’t do the ‘friend’ thing, but they were my friends. Wilson is my friend, as fucking deranged as it is to say that. I’m gonna get on board Lindon’s ship and fuckin’ kill him by spittin’ a tooth at him if I have to, but he’s not getting away with fucking with my goddamn friends.”
Daken feels the unpleasant and unfamiliar churn of jealousy in his gut. “This is not a good idea,” he says.
“Ninety-nine, he said. Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Of succeeding, not surviving.” And Wilson said ‘you ‘n me.’ He didn’t mention Lester.
Lester scoffs. “Y’wanna live forever?”
“Yes,” Daken says flatly.
“I don’t. Sounds fucking boring. Everybody dies, Aki.”
It’s not a fair argument, Daken feels. “Weren’t you always the one in favor of ‘live to fight another day’?”
Slowly, Lester turns to face him. “When you get your meds regular for a few decades and people salute when you walk by and cute little kids cheer your name, you start to see there’s some more important shit. In this case, fucking up the entire lifetime of the mother-fucker who took down a carrier that had three of my friends aboard. Fucker killed your dad, too-stole your kill. That doesn’t piss you off?”
Daken gives in. “This is not a good idea,” he says again. He walks quickly to catch up to Wilson.
When they get to the armory, the Supreme Commander has a knife in his own gut and is slipping a roll of micro-charges into his abdominal cavity.
“You have got to be kidding,” Daken hopes.
“Pfft, this is the coolest way to smuggle anything, ever,” Wilson replies. “If we can get four rolls onto the Excalibur, we can hit her bridge and her engines.” He tosses a pair of rolls to Lester, who looks at Daken expectantly.
“Don’t be a pussy, Aki. Unzip, unless you want holes in your uniform.”
Daken scowls, but unzips his suit down to his belly-button. “I hate you both so much right now. The very idea of this is disgusting. And unsanitary. Give me that…” He does it himself, with one of his claws, just to get things over with neatly and quickly. His body mends back together in an instant, leaving an awkward sensation of weight inside. “This is very uncomfortable,” he complains, just for the sake of complaining.
“There are less comfortable places to smuggle things,” Lester points out. “And if we get caught, those VF morons won’t find the charges.”
“When,” Wilson says. “When we get caught.”
An outline of Wilson’s plan is starting to take shape in Daken’s mind. He suspects it has to do with being captured intentionally and escaping the brig. He frowns at this idea.
Lester smacks his ass. “Smile, babe, we ain’t had a free license to annihilate in decades.”
Now, that’s true.
“Let’s skedaddle,” suggests Wilson. “We’re low on time before the Madeen’s in range.”
“Wait,” says Daken. “Shouldn’t you send a briefing back to the Dayspring?”
“Laura can tell the chipmunk she’s not getting her best gunners back.”
Daken frowns. “Let me rephrase that-I am going to call Juliet, and you can leave without me if we’re really that pressed for time.”
“Shit, fine, fine…”
Laura’s already got Juliet on the viewscreen when they get back to the war room. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?” she asks.
Wilson jerks a thumb at Daken. “Junior won’t go without saying goodbye to the chipmunk. The short-short version, please.”
~“So,”~ says Juliet. ~“Finally putting those schematics Taskmaster got all those years ago to good use?”~
Daken nods, suddenly uncomfortable. “Don’t wait up for us, Julie. As soon as Providence and the Steve Rogers start firing, you run. Low and fast.”
~“I will. You go do your thing. And if you happen to have the time to spare afterward, try to make sure my husband gets back to me in one piece.”~
“I make no promises-you know I can’t stand the boy.”
She winks. ~“I know. Hurry up, or you’ll be late.”~
He doesn’t want to say goodbye. It already feels too final. He just nods again, and starts walking for the door. When they’re in the shuttle, powering up to fly through the Excalibur’s ship-to-ship defenses, Lester takes his hand and squeezes it.
It’s a hell of a ride, darting through the small-caliber flak fire, and Wilson threads it like a pro.
Daken snorts. Sometimes he forgets that Wilson is actually very good at what the three of them used to do.
“Two o’clock,” says Lester, pointing.
“I see it,” says Wilson.
“Two,” Lester says again, urgently, as one of the bigger cannons comes to bear.
“Under control.”
“Two, two! Are you gonna fuckin’ dodge that thing or what?!”
Daken braces against a console as they veer nimbly out of the line of fire.
“Would you relax and let me fly?”
“I’d like to live long enough to blow the thing up, thanks!”
Despite Lester’s complaints, they touch down without incident (on one of the Excalibur’s own helipads).
“Thank you for flying Deadpool Air,” Wilson says. “Now just follow my lead. And don’t put up too much of a fight.”
By the time they get out and halfway across the pad, about a dozen Valse troops have marched out to greet them, guns at the ready. “Halt!” their lieutenant cries.
Daken flexes his fists, waits for the order.
The idiot just casually draws a sword and waves it in the air. “Gentlemen, we are taking over this ship!” Wilson tells the troops.
“Aye, avast,” Lester helpfully adds.
“Really?” Daken mutters. “You two and your movie quotes…”
The VF lieutenant looks at them incredulously. “There’s only three of you.”
Wilson makes a show of turning and looking at Daken and Lester. “Hm. One…two…three… I think you’re right…”
“Pirates to Conan doesn’t really work,” remarks Lester.
The lieutenant ignores them. “We’re taking you into custody. Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air.”
Wilson obligingly drops his sword. “You heard the man.”
Daken makes a face, but holds up his hands. “Really?”
“All part of my cunning Plan,” Wilson says.
“Ugh. Remind me, darling-why are we going along with this moronic plot?”
Lester grins. “We’re good guys now, sweetheart. Being suicidally stupid is a hero thing.”
Daken grunts as one of the VF troops wrangles him into cuffs. “Thank you for clearing that up, love.”
“You should probably go and brag as soon as you’ve put us in the brig,” Wilson tells the lieutenant. “I’m important, you know. I’m the Supreme Commander of the Sovereign Nation of Providence. And I have a snowglobe in my tummy that tells me what to do.”
“Uh…right. Listen,” the lieutenant says to Lester, who probably looks like the most reasonable one of them. “Is he really the Supreme Commander? Because he seems a little…uh…”
“Not all there?” Lester suggests. “Yeah, he’s a fucking loony-toon. Always has been. Thinks he has floating text box narration. He claims he’s the hero of something called a ‘fanfic.’ Look at the guy-he honestly thought we could take out this whole ship, just the three of us. But he really is the Supreme Commander.”
On cue, Wilson grins one of his most idiotic grins.
“Wow. So…why do you follow him?”
“Me, personally? Mostly for the laughs. And because he promised me a steady flow of medication.”
Off they go to the brig. Daken honestly can’t believe this is working, but people can be very stupid, and it’s extremely easy to underestimate Wilson.
The sympathetic Valse lieutenant trots off to inform Lindon of their unexpected good fortune-that the Supreme Commander of Providence has been captured.
“So, you guys use bars,” Wilson observes, when they’re in cells.
“Still work if the power goes down,” the jailor replies.
“I see, I see!” Wilson gives the door of his cell a good firm shake. “Sturdy, too. Ever tested them against meta-humans?”
“Huh? I guess not…we don’t usually take prisoners. We mostly just shoot ‘em.”
Daken can smell a sudden flash of anger from Wilson, but his dopey grin stays firm.
“Really? I guess I’ll do you a quick favor, then…”
One solid kick is enough to send the door flying.
“Nope, definitely not rated to resist super strength,” Wilson declares.
The jailor’s death is perhaps a little elaborate, but Wilson seems to have taken his comments rather personally.
“You do realize that I could have had him unlock the doors and bash his own skull in quite happily?” Daken asks after breaking the lock of his own cell door.
“Yeah, I just kinda wanted to kill something. It’s been a while. But, anyway, we’re here and everything’s going according to the Plan-please note capital letter.”
“Yes, I had somehow suspected your ‘Plan’ involved the brig…and a capital letter,” Daken sighs, and jerks open the door of Lester’s cell.
Wilson offers a cheeky grin. “That’s ‘cause the brig is two levels directly below the bridge. They just put us in a prime position to wire every last inch of their control infrastructure to go boom. After that, it’s a skip and a jump to rig their primary loft engines on our way to steal a lifeboat and get off this piece of shit before it blows.” He grunts as he takes back one of his swords from the dead guard and cuts himself open.
Grimacing, Daken retrieves his half of the explosives.
“Just think-the power to take down a dreadnought the size of fuckin’ Kansas in four packages the size of Swiss Cake Rolls…god bless StarkTech.”
“Fuck you,” mutters Daken. “And fuck Stark, wherever he is.”
~Don’t worry, Stark’s fucked,~ says a familiar synthesized voice from the region of Wilson’s intestines.
“That’s revolting,” Daken growls.
~You think this was fun for me?~
“I have no idea what’s fun for you, you overblown paperweight.”
Wilson just unconcernedly wipes Eight-ball off on his sleeve. “The schematics, please.”
A three-dimensional wireframe appears in the depths of the glass globe.
“And for his next trick, kids, he’ll pull a rabbit out…” snickers Lester.
Daken’s stomach turns. “Ugh. Thanks for that mental image, dear.”
“This way, gentlemen,” Wilson says hopping onto the guard’s desk to stick a micro-charge on the ceiling. “Mind your heads.”
The charge goes off with a muted boom, and easily blasts through the two-foot-thick sandwich of cabling, pipes, and ventilation that makes up the floor of the next level. The hole left by the explosion is just big enough for them to squeeze through.
Wilson leads the way into what looks like some kind of storage bay, and climbs up a stack of crates to get to the ceiling. “Follow this seam,” he says. “Really, it’s almost plot-devicey how easy they’ve made it.”
Daken arches an eyebrow as he hands Lester half a roll of charges. “You call this easy? The Madeen is probably here by now, ready to-”
The ship shakes for a moment.
“Less talky, more climby,” snaps Wilson.
“You know, we could, in theory, just blast our way in and massacre the bridge crew. I am a big fan of that strategy.”
“At which point the gunners would notice all the horrible screams over their comms and just keep on shooting without orders. Faster to kill the ship, not the people.”
So Daken scowls and scales a stack of crates.
The three of them work in silent tandem for a time, sticking the tiny exploding disks to the steel plates of the ceiling. Occasionally, the ship rocks with more fire-Laura and Cage are probably being cautious, probably focusing on the Madeen.
It’s got to be rough for Cage, since the Steve Rogers is down a drive engine and two loft engines. A lifetime ago, Juliet had said that loft engine failure increased the load of neighboring loft engines by thirty-five percent. Two on the same side of the carrier means that if Cage tries to push her ship too hard, too fast, it’ll drop like a brick.
The same thing’ll happen if the Madeen or the Excalibur manages to take out one of her other loft engines.
Maybe Summers will be able to keep it in the air. Probably not from inside the ship. Outside, she’ll be a sitting duck.
A hundred minus eight is ninety-two.
Daken can hear the echoing chatter, the radio noise, the barked orders and brisk conversation, even as they finish setting the charges.
“-direct hit on-”
“-loft engines are failing!”
“-meta appears to be attempting to cushion-”
“-firing on the meta-”
“-going down, repeat, the Steve Rogers is going down.”
Sitting duck.
“Shit,” Daken mutters, slipping the last charge into place. “Cage’s ship just went down. If we don’t want Laura and Julie to be next, we have to blow this ship.”
“Juliet had better goddamn well not be next,” Wilson hisses. “I told Laura to use everything she had to make sure the Dayspring lands. They’ve got three ships’ worth of refugees.”
“You think I don’t fucking know all that?” Daken snaps. He jumps down and waits for Wilson to lead the way toward the escape pods.
“Hey, no, wait,” says Lester. “I want some face-time with Lindon.”
“Are you out of your-” Daken starts, but Wilson interrupts him.
“Gimme the other roll of charges. Our ride out’s on this deck, five bulkheads aft. You’ve got however long it takes me to rig the primary forward engine, which I think’ll be about five minutes.”
“Shit,” Daken mutters as he throws Wilson the last roll of mini-charges.
The Supreme Commander ducks out the door and starts running.
“You’re losing your sense of fun, babe,” Lester snorts.
“Fuck you, precious.”
And then Wilson must’ve hit the detonator, because the ceiling of the storeroom blasts open along the seam.
They climb up amid smoke and sparks and chaos. The blast took out the primary control and communication consoles (as well as their operators). People are coughing and groaning and trying to understand what’s just happened.
Lester has one of his favorite blades in his hand, twirling it with anticipation as he spots Lindon.
Daken focuses on systematically gutting anyone with a weapon. Over the acrid smells of burning plastic and silicon, he catches blood and fear, and then the pleasant curl of Lester’s satisfaction.
“That’s for Frank, and this one’s for Mac, and this one is for Karla, you fucking wet streak of piss,” he hears Lester muttering, underscored by the wet squish of knife in flesh.
And then Daken realizes that everyone is dead, and he remembers they’re in a hurry. “Time to go, love,” he calls. Out the front viewport, he can see a dark shape vanishing into the distance and knows it’s Juliet.
Lester sheathes his knife and comes up beside Daken. “Let’s go, then,” he says.
Daken nods. They jump back down and head aft.
If he’s perfectly honest with himself (which he rarely is), Juliet and her mother are probably the only things left in the world that he cares about, aside from Lester.
Go, Julie, go, he thinks desperately as they run.
.End.
merianmoriarty has my formal permission to pimp my fics on various comms (if/when i ever abandon deviantART, i'll go ahead and join the comms myself and take care of getting things posted in the right places). no one has permission to re-post this ANYWHERE, but feel free to share or link.
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